


A Favour

by frubeto



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Gen, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Touch-Starved, two bros chillin in the same bed no feet apart cause theyre touch starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23378935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frubeto/pseuds/frubeto
Summary: Jaskier huffed as he sat back down at their table. This was a shit day. This was a shit town, and this was a shit inn.“No luck with the ladies tonight?”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 26
Kudos: 134





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was brought to you by social distancing™ get your free 30-day trial now

Jaskier huffed as he sat back down at their table. This was a shit day. This was a shit town, and this was a shit inn.

  
“No luck with the ladies tonight?” Geralt jibed, completely straightfaced, and Jaskier could only groan before one of the men he’d approached and rejected earlier passed them with something that sounded suspiciously like ‘your loss’, which he answered with a forced smile.

“Or the men,” Geralt corrected.

Jaskier put his head in his hands and shook it.

“I hate this place,” he said, then looked up again and let his arms fall to the table.

“It’s terrible. The women are all-” one hand went back in the air to gesticulate “-swoon-ey and the men are all… ‘ _I’m gonna fuck you within an inch of your life.’_.”

He smiled proudly at his imitation of the last rough-voiced gentleman he’d had the misfortune of flirting with, and he could swear the corners of Geralt’s mouth twitched. But his amusement didn’t last long.

“I just want-” he started, but cut himself off again with a scoff, throwing his hands up. No use in that. So he took a deep breath and focused on keeping from pulling his hair in frustration.

“You could always pay for it,” Geralt suggested helpfully, ale raised halfway to his mouth.

And it was fair enough, they had passed a decent-looking whorehouse on their way into town, but the thought didn’t sit right with him. Besides,

“We can’t spare the coin.”

And that seemed to settle that. Jaskier sighed.

“It’s late,” he eventually said, pushing himself to stand. “I’ll head up. Don’t to anything stupid.”

*

By the time Geralt joined him, he was curled up in bed, back to the door, and still uncomfortably tense. Unsettled. Jittery. And he knew Geralt could tell. And since they were sharing, it wouldn’t be long until he’d be told to  _get himself under control_ , or some other useless advice from the man he  _knew_ had been looking forward to a decent night’s sleep. Just his luck.

Geralt’s swords hit the floor with a dull thud as he put them down within reach, and then the mattress dipped when he sat down to get his boots off. Jaskier sighed, curling tighter to not fall victim to the slope behind him now. 

“So what _do_ you want?”

Ah. There is was.

“You don’t want it soft. You don’t want it rough. What’s left?”

“Are you offering?” Jaskier asked the wall, physically unable to stop himself. 

But when Geralt took a second too long to answer, his eyebrows shot up and he rolled on his back to look at him, sprawling across the bed, one arm draped dramatically on his forehead, the most inviting he could muster. Geralt ignored him.

  
“I want to know why I won’t get any sleep tonight.”

Jaskier grimaced. He  _could_ offer to find somewhere else to sleep, but that would probably turn out to be next to Roach, and he kind of preferred not to stink of horse and pull hay out of every one of his pores in the morning, thank you very much, so he resigned to talking and rearranged himself to keep Geralt in view as the other got up and struggled out of his armour at the foot of the bed.

“It’s not about sex,” he started, and was predictably met with a doubtful glare.

“Yes, yes, I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not. Or at least it doesn’t have to be. All I was looking for was a pair of strong arms to wrap around my lithe frame and hold me gentle prisoner so that I may feel as safe and protected from all the world’s harms as a newborn babe pressed to it’s mother’s loving breast.”

“You want to feel like a baby.”

“I want a hug, Geralt!” He threw his arms out wide to demonstrate. “I want a nice big glorified hug!”

His arms dangled over the edge of the mattress on both sides when he let them fall, until Geralt stepped back up to the bed and kicked one with his knee.

“Scoot over.”

Pouting, Jaskier gathered all his extremities back towards himself and made room enough for Geralt to lie down on his side. But instead of turning his back to him and eventually pushing him further away with nothing but the threat of becoming pureed once he rolled over, he lay down facing him, head propped up on one arm. 

_What?_

Jaskier looked at him curiously, then noticed a raised hand and followed it travelling over his body carefully, as if waiting for rejection, before descending around his middle, fingers curled around his ribcage tightly.

“...I have strong arms.”

He gasped a laugh.

“Uh-… that-… I-… you-,” he sputtered, thoughts fully elsewhere. Where was this coming from? Was he seriously implying-?

“You don’t have to,” he tried, but there was no reaction. The hand stayed where it was, spreading warmth, and oh _gods._ Thumb. Moving slowly. Across rib. After rib. He exhaled sharply.

“Okay. Right. Yeah. Good.”

No need to look a gift horse in the mouth. Except – 

“Are you sure?”

He shifted to lie on his side, the hand following the movement to rest on his back.

“...one condition.”

“Whatever you want, dear Witcher,” he sighed, and found that he meant it. Whatever it was, it would be worth this. Geralt might not understand, not truly, but he certainly got the gist of it, and nothing could bring him to make that hand leave him again, consequences be damned.

“You return the favour,” Geralt said, and _oh_.

“Oh.” 

Maybe he did understand.

“Gladly.”

Jaskier smiled, and with that promise Geralt lay down properly and pulled him closer, and for a while he was in  _heaven_ . 

But all too soon it teetered on the verge of  _not enough_ again, and he rolled onto his back, hoping for more contact as Geralt’s arm lay atop of him, and it was  _good_ , but it wasn’t nearly  _enough_ , he needed  _more_ , he needed –

“What do you need?”

Geralt’s voice came softly from beside him, and fuck, when had he learned to read him that easily? He pressed his lips together.

“What are you willing to give?” he forced out, while Geralt’s hand moved, up to his chest and down again to his side, and that was… better.

“Everything,” Geralt said, and, _whoa_. That made his head snap around to stare at him.

“Just tonight.”

Jaskier hummed, processing. Then he slowly turned back to the ceiling.

“Too bad I’m not in the mood to have you suck my cock.”

The hand stilled. He snorted. Totally worth it.

“Just-”

He rolled up to face him.

“Touch me? Like, _everywhere_. You’ve got the strong arms thing down, not like I’m surprised, although I wouldn’t mind a bit more. I’ll tell you when it’s too much.”

Geralt nodded, and proceeded to prove that he’d very much gotten the message. His hand resumed its trek, slower now, but with more force behind it. Fingertips pressing in next to his spine, grabbing at his hips, heel digging into the hollow under his ribcage. It was glorious. Jaskier let himself fall forward against the expanse of chest in front of him and curled his hand in the fabric to have something to hold onto when breathing became difficult around around all the noises he was desperately trying to hold back and his heart beating out a joyful rhythm in his throat.

But Geralt noticed. And the bastard loosened his hold, moved to his shoulder and gently pushed him away to look at him. Jaskier frowned, keeping his eyes closed.

“Hair,” he managed, lest Geralt could ask any stupid questions. And after a second’s hesitation he felt his shoulder go cold again and fingers instead ghosting around his temple, carefully combing through his hair before remembering what they were supposed to be doing, and the full hand descended on his head, fingertips massaging his scalp, and he positively _keened_. Fuck holding back. He didn’t _care_ what he looked like, not about the tears now standing in his eyes waiting to fall, or the noises that kept pouring out of him when Geralt curled his other arm around him to have one hand remaining in his hair while one continued on to his back. Not when they were so expertly teaching him what he liked.

He had never been quiet in bed either, for that same reason, and it had been stupid, really, to think this would be different. Some positive reinforcement went a long way. Well, that, and he was never really quiet, period.

It was a whole while later that calm was finally settling, and Jaskier shifted around subtly to find a more relaxed position. Next to him, Geralt let out a deep breath, probably releasing some tension of his own.

“Thank you, by the way. Don’t know if I’ve mentioned it.”

“You don’t get this?” Geralt asked, after enough time had passed to make the change of topic seem natural. “From your lovers?”

Jaskier angled his head back to judge his expression, but found only curiosity in his eyes. Alright. Curling inwards again to where he had been idling with the row of buttons on Geralt’s shirt, and maybe also the hair underneath, because he could, he shook his head. Sighed.

“Some of the men are good. After. But it’s not always worth going through the trouble of. Well. Everything _before_.”

Geralt hummed, apparently satisfied with the answer. His hand kept wandering along Jaskier’s body. Down his side, to his hip, over his ass, grabbing his thigh, Jaskier making his appreciation known all the while.

On the way back up though it caught on his chemise, the soft cotton giving way for a second, just a  _second_ of skin against skin, and he should have seen this coming but he didn’t, somehow, and the jolt of it made him  _gasp_ . 

Geralt immediately moved to pull the fabric back down, but Jaskier stopped him with a hand to his forearm.

“No, that’s-” he started, “that’s a good idea, actually.”

And so he shoved the hand back and ignored the amused smile on Geralt’s face as his eyes fluttered shut at the contact. It was slightly gentler now that there was no layer left between them, but it was still spectacular, and were it not for the restrictions of clothes it would have been perfect, and so after another minute Jaskier sat up abruptly, huffed, and stripped down to his breeches in record time. Geralt raised his eyebrows.

“I thought this wasn’t about sex.”

“It’s not,” he insisted, and pushed and prodded at Geralt until he was looking comfortable, manoeuvred himself into his arms and promptly moaned in bliss. 

He’d be offended by the low chuckle coming from Geralt if there hadn’t already been a hand back in his hair and one wrapped around his middle, Geralt leaning forward until he was partly burying Jaskier under him.  _Gods_ , that man learned fast.

And he had to admit he was as relaxed as he hadn’t been in a long time – not counting inadvertent unconsciousness – and by the time he felt the rumble of Geralt’s voice next to him again, he was as good as asleep.

“Hm?”

“Turn around,” Geralt repeated.

He blinked.

“What?”

There was a groan as Geralt resigned to just manhandling him until he was on his side, back pressed to Geralt’s front and  _mh_ , yes, this was good. This was the stuff the softest of ballads were made of. The words were already swimming in his head. Sung in barely more than a whisper. Sure to melt the hearts of many a soul and lighten their purses.

He only had to remember them in the morning.

(He didn’t.)


	2. Chapter 2

Jaskier was in his lap.

He didn’t quite remember why, or how it came to be, and knowing him there probably wasn’t any more to it than he had wanted to see what would happen, and because he had no sense of self-preservation to speak of, had just plopped down and happily continued to sip his ale.

Well, what happened was this. He got an angry glare. He wasn’t deterred by the angry glare. And so Geralt had no other choice, really, but to let him stay.

It was only a moment later, however, when this became a problem. One of the patrons yelled for the bard to ‘ _sing the fucking fish song again_ ’ and Jaskier, always happy to collect some coin, smiled and called back that he was coming and made to stand, and before he could think about what he was doing Geralt had swung his arms around him to keep him in place.

“Or apparently, I’m not,” Jaskier murmured under his breath. “Geralt?”

He was twisted around to give him a questioning face, supporting the pose with a flat hand on his chest and Geralt could do nothing but let out a growl that rang a little high for his liking. Fuck. He turned his head sharply. Away from those worried eyes who could surely identify the pained expression on his face, or,  _gods forbid_ , the embarrassment.

He didn’t even know where we was going with this. But Jaskier’s ass was warm on his legs, and surprisingly soft, and the weight pressing down on him weirdly calming, and he couldn’t even  _begin_ to explain himself.

Fortunately, Jaskier had always been better at reading him than he was with words, so he was the one to put it together first.

“Oh,” he said, and Geralt focused back on him, only to close his eyes when he saw the look on his face.

“Is this-?” he started, but trailed off. Instead Geralt got a hand suddenly in his hair and he _would not loose it right here in this tavern,_ he _wouldn’t._ So he forced down the sound at the back of his throat and exhaled noisily, trying to level his voice.

“I’m calling in a favour.”

Because he hadn’t known he needed it, but now that he had it, there was no way he was letting Jaskier wander off and leave him sitting here. Cold and alone.

“Of course,” he said, with that soft understanding in his eyes, and Geralt threw a pointed look around them.

“Not here.”

Shifting so that they were more easily face to face, Jaskier threw both arms onto his shoulders with a grin.

“Ah, well, you see, if we were to make it up to our room, you would inevitably have to let go of me, and somehow I rather had the impression-”

Geralt shut him up with a glare. Or, more precisely, Geralt tuned out anything he said after that, because he wasn’t very effective at shutting Jaskier up when he  _wasn’t_ holding on to him like he was planning on staying glued together for the foreseeable future. Speaking of.

“I don’t.”

“What?”

“I don’t have to let go of you,” he said, and swooped Jaskier up in his arms, ignoring his high-pitched protests.

Thankfully by the time they reached the stairs he had composed himself, and was holding on to his neck with an annoyed frown.

“Oh, this is going to do wonders for my reputation,” he muttered.

Geralt almost snorted.

“People are going to _talk_.”

“They have been since you decided to use me as upholstery for no reason.”

“It wasn’t for no reason. You’re exceptionally fluffy, you know that?”

“Hm.”

*

Jaskier let himself be carried to their room, even dutifully got the door when Geralt stopped in front of it, and then landed back in his lap when he sat down on the bed.

“Right,” he said, pulling himself back up to a more respectable position, which consisted of leaning against Geralt and playing with the front of his shirt.

“Now, what do you need?”

Of course, Geralt wouldn’t be Geralt if he just straight up  _talked_ for once, and Jaskier wasn’t exactly expecting an answer, but to be sure he still waited a moment before he sighed dramatically.

“Well I noticed you liked this back there,” he ventured, and tangled his fingers back into Geralt’s hair. Sure enough, it earned him a noise that – were he indeed as reckless as Geralt thought him to be – he’d describe as a purr. He smiled. Just a bit more then.

“Let me get the tie.”

He leaned forward to reach around Geralt’s shoulders and freed his hair, running his fingers through it properly. And that seemed to do it, because Geralt’s hold tightened, almost throwing him off-balance, had he not moved one leg over him so that he was now straddling his thighs. He pressed closer, Geralt still purring under him. Or, no, he was shaking. His grasp gentle, but every other muscle pulled tight.

“What do you need?” Jaskier repeated, softly, his mouth now so close to an ear.

“You know how this works. Use your words, Geralt.”

But he didn’t. After another minute, Jaskier pulled back, worried, and slid one hand down to Geralt’s chest. Their breathing was almost in synch now, unusual for the Witcher, but he knew better than to point that out.

Eventually, Geralt pulled him from his thoughts.

  
“Lie on top of me,” he rasped, and okay, yes, he could do that. It took a bit of manoeuvring until he had Geralt under him, his weight braced on both hands either side of his torso, but they got there in the end.

“Like this?” he asked.

“No.”

Well, that was helpful. Especially when instead of elaborating, Geralt just grabbed his arms and lifted them from the bed, causing him to crash face first into his chest.

“Put-” he explained over Jaskier’s muffled complaints, “… all your weight-”

“Ah,” he said, catching on. “You want to be squished like fresh bread at the bottom of Roach’s saddlebag.”

“Are you still mad.”

Jaskier grinned, but quickly shuffled upwards, bringing his face next to Geralt’s, hanging over his shoulder, and more of his weight pressing on his chest. There was humming in response, and Jaskier took that as a good sign. Although,

“Maybe you should have asked her for this.”

Geralt stiffened under him, and he backpedalled immediately.

“I only mean I’m not exactly… heavy to you, am I? You could still pick me off like… heh… like a cockroach.”

“It’s… enough.”

“Good,” Jaskier said, but then couldn’t help himself adding, “Just what a man wants to hear.”

The answering grumble was deep enough that he felt it with his whole body like an earthquake, and strangely, it made him settle down, comforted by the warmth beneath him, prepared to spend the night like this, when Geralt surprised him with more information.

“I don’t want to feel trapped.”

And that- that actually made a lot of sense. Someone swaddling Geralt like he liked to be would probably be classified as a threat rather than a calming presence. So he wormed one arm up to continue messing with Geralt’s hair, the other holding on to his side, trying his best to be as unthreatening as possible, while Geralt wrapped his arms around him lightly, his breathing finally slowing down.

Until Jaskier pressed the lightest of kissed to the crook of his neck, and Geralt flinched so hard he almost threw him off.

  
“Sorry!”

He scrambled up.

“Sorry, I should have asked. I didn’t think.”

Jaskier found himself looking at a pair of closed eyes, and he couldn’t tell what was going on, and Geralt simply reached blindly for his arms where they were holding his weight up on the mattress again, and made a displeased sound.

“It’s fine.”

It obviously wasn’t fine. Jaskier told him as much, compromising only by planting his hands on Geralt’s chest now, which, apparently, made his face do delightful blissed-out acrobatics, and waited for an explanation. Geralt groaned.

“Don’t be so… careful.”

“Careful? I don’t understand, of course I’m careful, Geralt, I don’t want-” he trailed off when he felt Geralt draw breath for an answer and let him speak.

“Like you’re. Afraid. They’re always afraid.”

Jaskier frowned.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“I know.”

The frown deepened, his lips forming a little ‘oh’ as he remembered all the times he’d seen Geralt disappear with a woman whose obvious fear was only trumped by her desperation for coin. But he stopped the sound from escaping, instead forcing a cheerier tone.

“So,” he started, leaning forward with intention, “are you more into the rougher things, then, like you are with everything in life? You know, the scratching, biting, hair pulling?”

He made a claw movement to lighten the mood when he realized Geralt had opened his eyes again. But he also genuinely wanted to know.  _What’s a little kink negotiation between friends?_

“No.”

_Shame._

“No, I didn’t think so. You’re a big softie at heart. We all know that.”

As expected, there was no response to that. Geralt simply closed his eyes again, even though he seemed to be expecting something to happen, as it didn’t take long until his eyebrows knit together when nothing did.

“Jaskier.”

“Hm?”

“...Please.”

“Please what?” Jaskier teased, but quickly took pity.

“Please, my dear Jaskier, will you pepper my handsome body in kisses that are just the right shade of neither too soft nor too harsh until I can finally find some peace again?”

“Yes. That.”

Laughing, Jaskier leant down and complied.

“Yeah, you only had to ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me on [tumblr](http://frubeto.tumblr.com).


End file.
